


Strung Up

by t0talcha0s



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, M/M, Metaphors and symbolism, Post-Dressrosa, talk of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-15
Updated: 2015-12-15
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:55:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5428709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t0talcha0s/pseuds/t0talcha0s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was a puppet, as was everyone else, but the difference was he could see their strings; and little can make a puppeteer more nervous then the constriction of strings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strung Up

People are easy to control. A certain phrase here, a glance there and it's like plucking a marionette string and watching them dance. Donquixote Doflamingo learned early how simple it was to manipulate others. The world is filled with possibilities when you know how to get people to do what you want, and of course know what to do if they they won't. Doflamingo knew just what to say and do to get his way, it was as if he were the conductor of some great orchestra and he and he alone could get each section to perfectly preform the score, which incidentally he had written. Doflamingo was charismatic, a flamboyant personality with great intrigue and depth, keeping himself hidden and divulging only what he needed to to get his way. 

Then he was given the string-string fruit. It seemed as if the fruit were made purely for the man, well child at the time. It was an invasive, uncomfortable feeling, those winding strings at first, but soon Doflamingo felt the power in his strings and it was a comfort, a pride. He could take the strongest to their knees, could make them fight, dance, do anything he could ever want. His strings could cut through flesh like it were warm butter, they could make him fly, was there nothing these strings couldn't do? They could control, better then any manipulative phrasing, and they imbued him with such power and purpose. No one could defy him now. Nothing could bind his strings, he would hold the reigns of the entire world. 

Doflamingo now knew such cockiness was foolish, even with his extensive planning, even with every precaution set he still had his downfall. He grits his teeth. The floor is cold, the clothing undignified, his doomed fate sealed, but none of that compares to the feeling of the thick, excessive even, but he can't blame them for being wary, seastone chains which shackle each limb into uselessness. It seems so wrong that strings should constrict instead of command, but the constricting stone is much colder then the floor, startlingly so, in such a way that it leeches all heat from Doflamingo's veins. His every muscle feels numb, depleted, he feels like his skin is too tight and he is too small. A ridiculous notion, as he is large in both stature and personality. He laughs, bitterly, it makes him sound insane, perhaps he is. His chains rattle when he moves the slightest, each struggle to inhale or exhale clinks, reminds him just why he's having such trouble breathing. He hates the sensation, makes him feel like he's lost and drowning, floating and restrained tight. 

The sensation harkens back to another time, when his hands chafed with the string holding him to the cold brick building, arrows sunk into his flesh, fire licked his heels, and cries of the unworthy filled his ears. These chains, these strings, rival all he's known of his power, they constrict and bind, ever tightening. His lungs feel filled with smoke, his grin is stretched taunt across his cheeks because it's funny, so funny. Hilarious that his entire life and all his accomplishments be struck down by those below him. So utterly amusing that his family be split up and sent to be executed and abused and hated, oh they could never be forgiven for being born. His laugh resounds empty and explosive in the stagnant air, never feeble. It echoes back to him and he can barely tell it's his own. It's just _so fucking funny_ that those he loves are dead, that his dreams are crushed, that he shall surely be killed before Impel Down has risen upon the horizon. 

He had asked where the rest of the family had been taken to, wrists bound in the same chains, strings, that bind him now, arrested, save for the children which were placed under marine care. Dellinger hardly counted as a child anymore, stronger then most of Doflamingo's other men and just as ambitious, but Doflamingo knew he wouldn't get the care he needed with the marines. While his heart ached for the arrests of his family, it felt as though it might implode when he thought of his family who had died, but his heart had been empty for a while now. 

Monet, a hard worker and a loyal member of the family, Vergo, an unparalleled companion, Doflamingo's truest friend and lover, Rosinante, through it all his brother, each of them with a noose of string tied around their neck, it reminds Doflamingo of his own, but they dangle like marionettes with their strings cut. Doflamingo laments their loss. And in the end all that loss has reduced him to hardly anything, a puppeteer bound by the strings he attempted to control. His childhood wrapping him tight, his family constricting him tighter, his kingdom strangling the life out of him, it's a wonder he could ever breathe with this string around his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Stream-of-consciousness and unbeta'd dribble, but golly I love symbolism and Doflamingo, contrived Doffy bs is my jam. 
> 
> Hmu on tumblr @barefootcosplayer


End file.
